THE KINGSLAYER
LYARRA
I have a temper. The one which boils like a molten volcano till I quench my thirst by drinking the blood of my enemy. And Gods, do I fight? I fight till my fist gets bruised red beyond salvation. My temper would make sure to numb my senses. I hate to say it out loud; I am not just a fighter but a killer. All the tales that they say about bastard were all true. I am vicious, vindictive, vain, jealous to a point of no return.
My temper flared when I saw his perfect smile, which hadn't got a grain of sorrow tinted in it. He was just awfully perfect. Robb was supremely ideal. Trust me, I love him. He'd always been there for me and I would give my life to protect him, see him happy, cherish his legacy. But at times, like this, when he behaved like the world is revolving around him, only around him, I wanted to knock his tooth out.
"See, this is not so difficult," Robb said, his fingers tugging my long sleeves of the gown. I had to wonder if he personally asked the dressmaker to stitch the sleeves till it flew down to my fingers. "You look every inch a perfect woman, Lya. Proper, prim, perfect!" He coaxed soft words. "Sansa will be jealous of you."
I blinked away my anger, holding it between my balled fist when he gave another smile, the one which could rapture my bloody heart.
"No one will mess with you, now that I am near."
"No one ever messed with me!" I said through my tightened jaw, eyes going red. He sighed, dragging his fingers along his simmering auburn hair. "I will never forgive you for what you did to me."
"I did what every brother is supposed to do." His insensitive, typical answer made me scoff, as I wound my shaking body around my arms. Alright, I take back what I said. I hate him now, more than ever.
"You took away my joy." I hated that my voice suddenly changed to anguish, baring my weak soul. "I had the best time of my life and you had to rat me out to Father. Now, I am locked and running behind you like a puppy."
Ghost buried her head into my skirt, her claws beginning to scratch my long blue gown. "You don't understand what they say about you, Lya. Now forget all that. The Maester says he has plenty to do with you and he will give you all the coins-"
"Do you think I wanted only coins?" I screamed, clutching the collar of his sleek leather jacket. He couldn't understand my pain. He couldn't understand why everything I did in this castle was not only about coins but about finding my foot and getting recognized for my worth.
He let out a sudden gasp, trying to pull me into his embrace. The one resort he'd always used ever since I remember myself. To help me cope, to help me be in control, to help me surrender. And for a moment, yes, I felt good. No matter what, he was there for me, holding me, fighting with me and fighting for me, when none in this world would do. But the next moment my raw wounds got freshly opened. Because I am a sick bastard girl, who has twisted notions of an unfair life.
Ser Rodrik wouldn't give me any task that required so much as interacting with other men. In the pit, I was left only to fight with Robb, Jory, or Ser Rodrik himself. I went back to the same square one, where I began. Every morning I ran in the grounds, tailing behind everyone I knew to allocate me a duty. I was redirected to my father or the Maester or Robb, whose line of duty was entirely different from my interest. Not just a week ago, I had to learn from Theon that Robb had done it to protect my honor. He had asked our father to restrict me from roaming with men, who had not got good eyes on me. How heroic of him?
Of course, I saw it coming, and I knew I'd have to face one day. But I was formulating plans to convince my father like all the other times. Robb had gone behind my back and plunged his burning steel to my heart.
"You think your warm words and this pretty dress will convince me to give up what I earned. I will throw you in the mud again like I have done a hundred times in the past month. I will make you a laughingstock before the same men you will rule one day until you give up hauling my ass." I screamed at his ears, hoping he would give up trailing after me.
He simply laughed, but his hands made a soothing gesture against my spine, like petting a wild cat. "I am glad to be broken by you." His casual admittance started breaking me rather than the other way around. "Listen, my mother wants us to be on time. And your friend, Alys Karstark, has come all the way."
He started describing all mundane things as if he'd healed my wounds. And when he tried to wave away, I held his chin firm between my fingers, looking directly into his lying, cheating, conniving, blue orbs. "Did you fail in the pit just to please me?" I asked, words slipping out naturally. My head hadn't even processed. The words were blurted out, and he was caught. When he ignored, I screamed. "Why the hell are you doing this? I didn't ask for you to fail. I wanted a good game, where I earn what I deserve." I yelled and screeched like a lunatic.
"Well, what you deserve is respect, Lya." He countered, his soft face turning hard like father's, the Lord's face. "I am sick of hearing japes about you. I am sick of men ogling at your feet. I am sick when someone touches you in the name of a sword fight. I am supposed to protect you, and I am protecting in any way I can. If beating my ass will tone down your childish anger and I am glad to get beaten up by you."
I truly, genuinely, hated him, now. He was taking away my passion for his own pride. "I am not yours to protect!"
"Until you marry, it is my duty and my responsibility as much as Father's. You have an honor to guard. Your duty can be assigned to anyone here. Now, come along. The royal party will come any minute."
The Royal Party? My ears were tired of hearing about the arrival. The whole castle was celebrating, but I knew where my place was among the nobles. Lady Stark had made sure to let me know of it. I was not welcomed at the table. They had already shunned me away from the gathering, and my father had no qualms about it. This seemed to be my lowest point. I wanted to lick my bruised pride rather than stand through the odd trial. "I am just a bastard, Robb. A snow. And I will melt in front of a bright sun as you. I was never called a bastard among the same men you accuse of being in wrong with me. I am just Lya for them." My fingers flexed. "You have taken it away and now they won't come anywhere near me, speak with me, or even whisper a polite wish. Do you truly care about who I will marry? Because guess what, I could have married one of the kind men among our own guards had you not interfered. You destroyed it all."
He appeared calm, trying to read me, but I knew none of what I said had gone into his head. He was still thinking he was in the right, and I was the naïve child who needed his guidance. I walked away, thudding against his shoulder, towards the castle gates. The chaotic preparations for the arrival of the royal party would have excited me had I not been in my temper. My anger will be my undoing.
Father was beyond busy, Jory tucked to his arm. Lady Stark was bringing her litter. Arya, Bran, and Rickon–all bickering about the knights they would want to get a glimpse of, sharing a shade of their story to me aloud. Sansa had already taken her place, flourished in soft pink cloth, that both accentuated her innocent smile and her auburn hair. Robb hadn't done me any wrong. He'd brought me a soft woolen blue gown that clung to my shapely body. But I would have to hold a lamp before Sansa's dress. The delicate soft needlework of red, gold and green threads along her sleeves and bodice made my stomach rumble in soft jealousy.
Not that anyone was going to take a comparative note of us both. I was invisible to others, standing in the second row, hiding behind Robb. Robb wasn't towering over me. We were of the same height. If he'd got our father's colors, we would have looked like twins. How silly of me? I will still be the bastard girl.
Taking all the air in, I stared at the approaching entourage. How much ever I tried to refuse to acknowledge, the thudding sound of horse hooves colliding against the snow layered hard ground, the military parade entering with horns, announcing the presence of the King, made goose prickles sprinkle on my skin. I could find everyone's attention, getting fixated on the lanced men, in their gold cloaks, in their disciplined walk, taking their position along the entrance to protect their King. The herald gave a loud cry, his voice shrieking through the wind, as he spelled every single title of King Robert and his arrival.
Royal respect was fascinating to me. What a privilege!
The white guards came first, still sitting atop their warhorses, scanning my father's family through their slitted helmet. At last, the eagerly anticipated, King Robert arrived, and my eyes were wet for the way it gauged. Had Robb been on good terms with me, I would have shared the jape of how father had fooled us all by calling his friend as the Demon of the Trident. None of our imaginations matched with the man before us, who was struggling to get off his horse.
We were on our knees, giving our salutation for the King, when Theon made a snarky remark. "I wonder how the Queen doesn't have a strand of her hair undone after rolling with this fat King?" I had to scowl. Theon was just himself. If I was right, he didn't like the fact that King Robert, who had crushed his father's rebellion, had come here. All the same, when we rose, I observed the Queen and made a quick mental note of her blinding beauty.
Beauty was not even the word that could describe her family. The Prince was just like how it was said in the songs. Dashing, charming, with a natural pride. And I could hear Sansa gushing about it. Her pink cheeks tinting red at the mere sight of him. And the Princess had begun to dote on Robb. She was just a child. Yet the moves were already made and my stomach flip-flopped in burning jealousy. Pleasantries were getting exchanged between the King and the Stark family when my eyes caught another golden-haired man still sitting atop the horse in his scaled white armor, who should have been the Queen's twin brother, Jaime Lannister. I moved on to the odd-shaped hound helmet, taking note of its owner.
As I was lost in my own world of taking note of the other guests, occasionally hearing Arya mumbling about unable to locate the imp, I forgot to note that the world had gone into silent mode, air freezing to pause the time, until Theon nudged my elbow. When I propped my head, a pair of haunted blue eyes was trying to anchor its weight on me. And it was upon me… Me of all people. No one spoke. The chilled wind was too light, but not even a whisper amongst those three hundred men came out. Not even my father had any words. Robb's stiffening muscle was stretching on his leather jacket, his protective mode taking a stance. And every single person's attention was pulled to me. The bastard girl who was supposed to be invisible.
I was flabbergasted. Sansa would have asked me to give a curtsey, and I knew I should offer him that, but my hands were shaking, and I had to clutch Theon's for a little support. I repeatedly said to myself that it was some mistake, that he was probably staring at someone else behind me, but he was there, his eyes penetrating into my dark gray. I knew he was reaching for something inside of me, fighting to let go of what was offered before him. I just couldn't figure out how I should respond. The muscles in the corner of his eyes crinkled in a momentary, fleeting joy.
And I was done anticipating another move that could make things worse. I searched for my father, hoping he would do something and take me out of this place and wipe out the memory. Because, seriously, I was scared. I was not the one to get attention, ever.
"My natural daughter, Robert. Lyarra Snow."
Gods, that stung. When my father said it so casually, my eyes went down hiding the pain of my heart, unwilling to rip off my armor before these strangers. Did he have to add the 'natural' part?
"Lya…" King Robert's tongue swirled with my name like he was tasting honey from it. That ridiculous moment was broken only when Queen Cersei called out on her husband.
"Should we be waiting here in the cold, till you finish having pleasantries with the whole household, Robert?"
King Robert glared at the golden-haired goddess with such ferocity that I thought they were archenemies, not husband and wife. But he composed himself, regaining his status amongst his men. "Take me down to your crypt, Eddard. I would pay my respects."
The Queen was protesting openly, trying to win over her husband by fighting against a ghost. "We have been riding for a month, my love. Surely, the dead can wait." King Robert gave an immaculate roar that the lioness went back to her den, her litter following her trial.
It was over just like that, as though nothing had conspired, and I was glad no one gave huge attention to it. Gods, how wrong I was until Theon gave a whisper to my ears. "So, it's the King's cock that will break your maidenhead, huh? Your forbearance for all these days will be fruitful when a royal bastard pops out of you."
"Whoever cock is going to be in me, remember that it will never be yours. Run to your whore in Wintertown and take your pick, hoping she mirrored me." I spat back, the only way I knew would make Theon's mouth shut. And it did wonders when he took off, stomping his foot, until Robb plucked my elbow, his eyes dancing in a dangerous madness. He was not alone. His mother, Lady Stark, was standing beside him.
I wondered the reason for her presence before Robb gave a piece of his mind. "What have you become?" He was disappointed that I spoke crassly with Theon about cocks and whores. "Look, this is how you change if you roam with men who have no standards."
Lady Stark, in her glory, scurried her skirt and left from the place, like I was beneath all those explanations. Her prideful glare was enough to let me know that she never considered me to have any standard at all. It was a mystery why she'd waited, and I wondered if she wanted to give a piece of her mind too.
"You will stay far away from the King and his family, or anyone. And when all this gets over–"
"Fuck you!" Words spilled in the agony of my heart. "What do you think of me? I am not yours to control. Sing your songs and offer your polite curtsies to your sweet Princess. She is drooling over you, already. Perhaps she will need you to come for a rescue." He glared at me and I ignored the stab in my heart, which was screaming at me to not hurt him. "I am just a bastard, Robb. Don't bother where I sleep for the night or with whom I sleep. Just fuck off and run behind those royal asses."
I knew I'd hit a sore spot by pushing him away, but he was wounding me, crushing me in the pretense of protecting. I had to come out of his hold. And I knew this sting would last for months to come. I left from the castle, taking myself for a ride to the mountains, but I knew this time, Robb wouldn't follow me.
I placed the horn to my lips and took a long drag like my life was depending on this small act of bravery, defiance, and one night of carelessness. The head-pounding music was already drowning the surrounding noises, and my vision slowly started blurring until I felt soft arms wrap around my waist. Gray eyes stared back at me, and for a moment I wondered if it was my own reflection.
"Have you gone rogue now?" Alys asked, in her sly attitude. "Or mad?"
I rolled my eyes, before taking another swig to my mouth until she plucked the horn out from my hand and threw it to a maid. To say we both were long-time friends, like soul-matched pair, would be like telling sun rose in the west or I turned to be a royal, not a bastard. We both were desolate, bitchy, uncharacteristically ruthless when it came to marking territories and fighting for it. And I'd made her cry when she'd first come to seduce Robb, under her father's command. We were supposed to be rivals. Somewhere along the several visits and too much animosity, we'd made peace. I suppose…
"Don't overthink I came looking for you, in affection, that too in your dazed state. I didn't want to move my ass away for a second from the charming Prince. My idiotic brother sent me to for you."
Liar! I knew she would run to come find me. Although ruthless and vain like me, Alys Karstark was the only girl I could bond with, unlike all the nobles who had come to this castle. Hells, I couldn't even get along with Beth Cassel or Jeyne Poole, who I had known since they were babes. Well, Alys was quite different, a little of a soft nature, and had no worry if I was a bastard or not. I assume I liked anyone who treated me equally. And Alys was not the one to hide behind faint curtsies.
Squinting my wet eyes to focus at Harry, I stared at the dais. I could only trace the outline of his presence. Beardy, tall, easy to be recognized among the crowd, other than the King himself. "What is Robb doing there?"
Alys snorted, and I knew I was caught right into her net. But I am not going to deny my urge to know if Robb felt slightly territorial as much as I am feeling right now. Robb hated Harrion Karstark. "His hands are all over that pretty Princess. Too busy to search for you, Lya." Alys countered with a conniving smile. Point scored for her. Because that gave a pang to my heart, the one which kept ringing in fear. The fear of losing him to another woman. I had seen my whole family walking down the Great Hall with the royal family. Princess Myrcella was swooning over Robb. Sansa's eyes never wandered off from Prince Joffrey's face.
Had it been another time, I would have scared off any girl who came near Robb. If I couldn't, then I'd have extracted a promise from him to not flirt with any. Now, though… I was unwanted, disliked, and thrown out of the threshold in the cold. I was hurt to find Robb smile graciously at Myrcella, in his easy elegance, and dance with her like he held the precious Princess, who might break if he wouldn't hold her. I forced my thoughts to be only on Alys, for now. "Why the fuck did you come all the way from Karhold?"
Alys shrugged her arm, picking a wine goblet from the plate, before jumping like a maid seeing Ghost swirl her tail around Alys's ankle. "Fuck you! Stupid Starks. Does any right sensible person bring up a dire wolf, for God's sake?" She was cursing, and I offered a chicken piece to Ghost, who went silent and started nibbling it.
"I am no Stark."
"Tell that to my wasted brother, who thinks he can take your hand right this second and run away." I rolled my eyes, searching for another ale mug when she slapped my wrist. "What is with the King and you?" She asked, her tone becoming a strange whisper.
"He thinks I am the dead Lyanna Stark. My aunt. Wait… The news reached you, already?!"
She chuckled, her tone becoming flat. "The whole of Winterfell knows, and that's why my brother is asking to have a word with you. Besides, the King's fat body is only seated on the podium, but his eyes have never left yours."
I didn't believe her. We both had a warped sense of humor and I knew she would tell it just to rub it on my face. Besides, I was too drunk to get my vision clear and see what's exactly getting conspired on the stage, where I was not allowed to sit. "Your brother can fuck himself. I am not going to have any word with him."
Alys gnarled, her own temper flaring. "You are such an icy cold bitch, you know. I don't know what he saw in you, but he came all the way to-"
"I assume he didn't come for asking my hand but rather to have a word with me." I interfered. "He has been having a word or two with me for over two years, now, Alys. I have fought him, insulted him, and did everything in my power to make myself clear. Why won't he get it?"
"Ah… Because he loves you." She said, her eyes twinkling.
"Love?" I asked and we both already started laughing until I had to wipe the tears away. "I wish his love was good enough for him to ask my hand from my father. Who are we kidding here? He is your house's heir, to extend the Karstark line, and his blood should be mingled with the right noble ones. Isn't that why he never asked for my hand?"
Alys was silent, her arms protectively rubbing my back, and I sighed. Seriously, love or not, if anyone had dared to ask for my hand, I would have fallen right in their arms. Harry was not the typical handsome man. He had the Stark gray eyes, dark beard, and a rugged face that had scars. But he was a good choice amongst many and I had this crush on him, in the beginning, like Sansa was now having for Prince Joffrey. It all weaned out with time. "If it helps you, he had asked a thousand times to our father, Lya. Our father wouldn't consent."
"Right… Forget all that. Tell me why did you come?"
"Cheesy as it sounds, I was thrilled to see you."
"Or my brother?" I asked in my teasing tone.
"I give no shit for your brother. He has never as much as graced a sideways glance at my direction in all these years." That was true, but it was also partly my fault. "Are you trying to throw me to his arms, now?" Alys shrieked.
"You are better than that golden-haired bitch. Since the moment her feet touched the ground, she is doting on Robb like he is her Prince."
"I don't think so. That girl is too young for such manipulations." Alys pulled away. "Anyway, if we are fighting for suitors, the Prince seems off-limit, now that Sansa will be engaged to him. Did you happen to see Ser Jaime Lannister? He is strikingly beautiful, far better than the King."
"What engaged?"
"Where were you the whole day? Riding?" She asked, her tone going shocked, finding my terror. "I heard the King came to offer your father to become his hand in the capital and they are uniting the family with a marriage between Sansa and Joffrey."
I couldn't bother myself to be anywhere around Alys, not when I was already panting like I would pass out. My head became a raging mess, heat evaporating through every inch of my flesh. If my father became the hand, he would leave from Winterfell. Sansa would become Queen one day. Gods, it felt like a thousand knives stabbing my heart, over and over. The bastard blood pumping in maddening jealousy, I left from the place, running out of the warm hearth to the cold winter, to breathe and relax.
I couldn't. I was pacing, searching to break something, or pick up a fight with anyone in the middle of the castle, before I ran to the stables. I knew I couldn't take my horse now that the moon had come, but I wanted to scream at the world and I had to get out of this suffocation that was gnawing inside my throat.
JAIME
She smiled, her beautiful plump lips that I had tasted just before leaving from her chamber, giving a seductive curve in my direction. And I yearned to taste it again. Taste it over and over, till I would die out of that sweet poison. Nothing tasted good after that plump lips and I shoved mugs of ale to drown down my pity when my eyes found Robert's hand to loop around her slender waist.
I was not faring well in this cold. This cold was begging me to warm up to her in a single blanket, but I knew it was too much to ask. She would never let me stay the night. She hadn't allowed me even in King's Landing, and I am sure she would kick me out if I even dared to knock on her door, now in Winterfell.
I always craved for more and she always gave the meager portion of her mercy to keep my cravings burning. This damned journey was not quenching my thirst, in fact, it only piqued my passion. Robert was unbothered in King's Landing. Mostly he never remembered Cersei to be his wife, and I was glad to have her all for myself. She belonged only to me. But this damned journey made him visit her royal carriages at night and I stood there out, hearing his grunts, guarding like a fool.
She has made me the right royal fool. And I had an urge to reclaim her and show her who she belonged to. She belonged only to me and every time Robert came close to her, my muscles shuddered in anguish. I thirsted to puncture his fat belly, and fuck her over his pool of blood, rather than to guard him while he fucked her and made me hear it all.
Cersei noticed my discomfort. And I hoped she would ask me to calm. But that was not the Cersei I knew. She began to tease me, goad me, until I would break and give my mind to her whims. Her low neck-line showing ample flesh roused my manhood, and I had to turn my gaze away, else I knew I would do things that would bring an end to us. It was too hard to resist. She was right there, in front of my eyes, dressed in my favored color, bright red–that accentuated her golden tresses, and hugged around her elegant curves. When her tongue traveled to lick her glistening lips, I knew I'd gone to waste.
I left the crowd, my uselessness forbidding my existence, my senses lost on the world, my heart bursting to take the only person that mattered, and run away. I yearned to swing my sword before anyone crossed us. Had I been a Targaryen, I would have proudly taken her hand in the Sept and kissed her lips to claim before the world and show them who she belonged to. But we were the lions of Casterly Rock, born from the seeds of Tywin Lannister, the giant of a man. And I didn't know if it was a curse or a blessing. Sucking in a long breath, I wondered when I would find peace.
The cold sucked here, leeching blood out of my skin and paralyzing my senses. Leaving the hearth was a mistake. Stuttering and shivering, I rubbed my gloved hands, hoping to let the cold consume and dry out the fire inside of me, as I wandered into the night. Tyrion was nowhere to be found. My brother was somewhere out here in this cold, probably taking a whore for the night, and I started missing his company as I walked aimlessly around the almost empty castle.
My wave of thoughts moved to search for fire. One leading to another I ended up pondering about the Mad King, his last whispers, Ned Stark, and the dead babes in the red blanket. A loud neigh from one of the horses from the stables made my twitching fingers to clutch the golden hilt. The horse kept neighing, as though it was in trouble. Who was going to be here in these stables at tonight, if not a burglar? A royal party welcomed all unwanted filth along with the knights.
A joy sparked in. A sick, twisted joy to have a fight and let go of this agonizing torments in my head seeped in. And unsheathing my sword, I wandered carefully into the stables, peering at the empty stalls and the non-empty ones for intruders. No, actually searching for a soon-to-be-dead man. I hoped he knew to fight, giving me some relief to vent out my anger before I took his life.
There were so many horses for me to figure out my champion, until I found the neighing black horse, which was standing singular in its clean stall, having a rich ornate leather saddle on its back. I liked the color. Rich black, darker than the night, and there was a small candle flicking in the stall, shedding light on its beautiful mane. My drunken thoughts wandered to Rhaegar, and his black war-horse. What is with me and Targaryens today?
I prepared myself, seeing that the candle was lit, and the saddle was set, to catch the culprit. But my preparations failed when a thin blade pierced the back of my neck.
"If you even move an inch from where you stand, I will not hesitate to shove this down your throat."
I had to force myself to keep my mouth shut. I can't in a right sense believe a girl was holding a steel to my neck and threatening me. There was not enough light for her to see me, and for me to see her. Probably she wasn't knowing who I was. Else who would dare to raise steel against me, Jaime Lannister? And as natural as it was, I wanted to boast about who I am and see her whimper. "Do you know at whom you are raising your steel?"
"As though I fucking care!" She snarled. "Leave from here, before I knock out your ass."
"You have a trouble for mouth, girl." I was capable of bringing her to knees in a swift move, but I liked her guts. I enjoyed it too much that I wanted her to run the play and find out what she was capable of doing. "Take away your blade before I run it from your head to cunt."
She pinched in the blade closer and blood started dribbling down my spine. Feeling terribly aroused of being tested, at the mere sensation that I was letting a girl make a move against me, my body gave a simple jerk to take a position against her. It was enthralling and challenging. I needed this fight; I said to myself. I am just defending myself; I said again when she poked her blade deep into my flesh sensing my movements. In a split second, I gave a sudden thrust to her sword, before even turning around.
"Kiss goodbye to the world." I gnarled, lunging at her tiny waist. It was supposed to be an easy match, and I simply wanted to give her a ghastly wound and leave at her wills to succumb to the injury. But the girl was swift. So speedily that not just before she dislodged my attack, she managed to swim into a new position beside my arm.
My drunken head became clean and clear. I cursed myself for underestimating my enemy and went into the battle, swinging my arms to slice through her legs. She withdrew back, not even daring to attack. She just kept falling back over and again. And I boasted like a fool before I missed her in the dark. I couldn't find her around. This place was new for me to search and she was missing. I turned my head all around, searching for this stupid girl. For a moment, I even wondered if it was all a dream until I felt a stinging pain on my bloody arms. "I could give a goodbye kiss to you, Ser Jaime."
I chuckled, enjoying her dare creep into me. The soft candlelight gave a glimpse of her actual physique and I took a note of it to remember where her fleshes were prodding, so I can stab her well. "Far from it, girl. Do you know what punishments you will receive for raising a sword against a Kingsguard?" I asked, still unable to register that I was poked twice by her. Instantly I felt shameful for threatening a girl who was ready to fight me off. I was in need of this fight… and now I am backing off.
"All mighty men are always scared of little girls… What a pity that you are guarding the King!"
For fuck's sake, the insult stung like nothing else and I went for her. No shackles bound my arms and with no qualms of choosing right from wrong, I lunged at her. Worse comes worse, I can show my wounds and say it was for defense. I gave an upward thrust to her defensive sword, and it was almost knocked out of her hand before I came for her steady legs to slice it down. She was swift, precise, dancing like a water bending her waist, too thin in the air to catch and hold her. She dodged all my moves. To her chest, to her stomach, to her legs, to her head. And I left no stone unturned. And she was goading me with a giggle, triggering my boiling blood. I am Jaime Lannister… not just a random knight. I was trained for glory by men like Ser Arthur Dayne. Who is this girl, trying to tease me?
I danced with her then, my sword singing a new tune for me in air, legs becoming swift as hers, as I cornered her to the stable's end. This place was not fit for a duel, and she was having a lesser chance to escape from my attacks. She seemed to be aware of it. The closer I neared her, she came for an attack to my arms, not lingering long to cause me deadly wounds but enough to bruise my skin. Snarling as a lion, I gave one thrust to her sword that came to my face, and placed my blade into her heaving chest, pressing it between her breasts, eager to find if she would bleed like me.
She stood motionless, not answering, only panting, giving up on the fight, baring her chest for me to do the deed. And as much as I wanted to shove it down her beating heart, from which the echoes were rippling throughout my own golden blade, I let my heart take control over my head. When was the last time I dueled with a girl? She was special, I knew, and I clutched her gown in my palms that was clung to her soft belly and dragged her near my face.
"Where in the seven hells do they teach thieves to fight with a sword?" I asked, only able to smell her sweat and focus on her glistening moist eyes. Nothing else was clear to my vision, and I was desperate to see how she appeared. She gave no answer, but her palms rested on my hand that was on her stomach like she was hesitant to stand close to me. I did the only thing that could remind me of her. To make this moment memorable. I sniffed the air around her neck. The lilac smell mixed with her womanly sweat, started to intoxicated my head, arousing too many questions, and too many wild thoughts that I shouldn't be thinking about. "Who the fuck are you? Not a poor thief, anyway." I stated before dragging her sorry ass outside the stables towards the moonlight.
"Can you not complain about this to my father?" She asked, not answering my question. When the moonlight flashed on her face, I stopped in my tracks, instantly backing away from holding her gown, that was crumpled now, soaking with blood. The blood that had dribbled down from between her mounds, where I'd poked. "Please…"
"What?" I was trying to gather some sense. "You want me not to tell your father?" I sighed, dragging my fingers into my golden hair, almost forgetting the consequences. Almost forgetting, I laid my sword on Ned Stark's daughter. "You are bleeding." I pointed out at her chest, where I'd made a hole in her dress. I could see the sides of her tender soft mounds inside, but I was more curious about the wound I'd caused. "We should check that with a Maester."
"That's fine. I poked more holes on you. You should be the one to go see the Maester."
What a sassy tongue! "Don't be too proud, girl… Remember that I spared you."
"I spared you even before you invoked the fight, Ser Jaime." She answered in her glory with a hint of a smile. And I liked that attitude. I liked it enough to break that spirit and see her succumb to a hole.
"A bastard rising a sword against a Kingsguard. How curious! I wonder if your father taught you to fend for yourself when he would abandon you."
The muscle on her face tightened, and I took a note of her face, for the first time from close. I hadn't given much credit to Robert when he was behaving like a fool in front of his own men in the morning. Not even when Cersei ranted about his actions. But the girl was a catch. She had a straight-edged nose, high cheekbones, and haunting eyes with colors that varied from different angles through light. She had the shade of Ned Stark more on her. The dark brown hair and chin, all matching with her father. But there was some other familiarity in her face, and I couldn't point what it was.
Was she really Ashara Dayne's daughter? It could explain how naturally she was good with a sword. Ser Arthur's blood would not be a cower.
"More like a bastard raising a sword against the Kingslayer." She spat back and my back stiffened. Her curious smile widened, as though she caught me red-handed. "Will you tell me the story, one day, Ser Jaime?" She asked, a sly smile along her lips. This was not Ser Arthur's blood. This was rotten blood. "I would like to learn more lessons from you. The ones about your brave fight in the throne room against the evil King. My father's version is too boring for my taste."
"Be careful before you learn it from the King himself," I warned. I didn't know why I did that. I cared too little about where Robert's cock would wander.
She walked away, swinging her blade about her arm, jumping in between, careless of anything that I said. In fact, I didn't think she was aware that I warned. I was still staring at her behind when I heard the sloshing of alcohol and turned to see the new intruder.
"What a curious predicament!" Tyrion lamented, his legs wobbling. "Jaime, my brother, warning a bastard girl to be careful around the King! My, my, what did I miss brother? Since when have you started doing charity?" I chuckled, shaking my head, clutching my arm to stop the bleeding that was slowly blotching the snow near my boots. "No way! Not in Seven different hells did you let that happen! Do tell me it is not the girl who wounded you."
"Aye, she did… What can I say? The girl's tongue and sword are too sharp for her own good."
"Tell me about it."
I raised my brow at him, and I knew he wanted to know the details. I would have shrugged off and boasted of how I spared her if anyone else had asked of it. I have an unbending pride in that matter. But I damn well knew the fight was a close call to what I had with Ser Barristen before I left from King's Landing. And it was my brother who asked, not some random stranger. She would have been dead had I not spared. That's another tale, but the fight in itself was good to ignore it.
"Now that I have a new champion, I need to speak with her too."
"Be careful, she lashes out her tongue just like you with no care for the world."
"All the more reason for me to know her better. Who knows, I may get a better chance before Robert gets his, to settle between her legs." Tyrion gave his twisted smile, and I scoffed, not a bit liking that he could put her lower like a common whore. She was better than that. Somehow understanding my sour mood, he diverted the subject, all the while my head going back to rehearse the stupid moves I made on her. Like a boy I wished, I had done it better in the fight. Who knows, I might get another chance to dual her?